


One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

by flibbertygigget



Series: The Steps Universe [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, Gen, Government Corruption, Harry is an idiot, Hermione and Ron Are Good Bros, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Severus Snape Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 23:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15673674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flibbertygigget/pseuds/flibbertygigget
Summary: When Severus Snape was brought in on charges of violating his parole with no idea where they could have even come from, he couldn’t really say he was surprised.Written for snapeloveposts's Writing and Drawing Fest 2018.





	One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**Author's Note:**

> So for the fest prompts, I kind of mushed two of them together. Original prompts:
> 
> 1\. Snape lives and has to work out how to fit into life post-war
> 
> 2\. Spell creation is a rare skill. Someone finds out Severus can do it.

He had known, from the moment he woke up in St. Mungo’s with a guard on either side of him, that his position in the world would always be precarious. If he had not, almost two years of being ferried in and out of Azkaban, destroying what little remained of his physical and mental health in the process, would have convinced him easily enough. So, when Severus Snape was brought in on charges of violating his parole with no idea where they could have even come from, he couldn’t really say he was surprised.

After being strip-searched and thrown the usual too-thin Azkaban prison garb, he was led not to a holding cell but to an interrogation room. The sick feeling in his stomach was soothed slightly when the chains only loosely bound his arms to the chair, but he couldn’t say that he was looking forward to what was coming. He had been beaten, hexed, and force-fed highly restricted potions in rooms just like this one, and he could only hope that whichever interrogator was sent would be one of the few who put their professional integrity over their desire to humiliate a Death Eater.

Still, he didn’t expect the familiar figure who entered the room, locking the door behind him.

“Mr. Weasley,” he said, hoping that his voice didn’t give anything away. The redhead grinned at him.

“It’s Auror Weasley now, actually,” he said. “Just got the paperwork done two weeks ago.” The boy seemed almost friendly, and Severus relaxed in spite of himself.

“Congratulations,” he said. “Now, would you mind telling me what charges are being brought against me?” Weasley winced. He sat across from Severus, awkwardly averting his eyes from the chains.

“I’m pretty sure you can blame Harry. Sorry about that.” He gestured at the chains. “And those. It’s-“

“Policy for convicted Death Eaters. I know. What do I have to yell at Potter for this time?”

“Well, long story short, Harry used _Muffliato_ on the field.” Severus had to bite his tongue to suppress a groan. It wouldn’t be smart to antagonize an Auror, even one as apparently sympathetic as Weasley. “His inquiry was just for show, ‘cause, you know, _Chosen One_. But in the process he told them that the reason it wasn’t in the Ministry’s records was because it was one of yours.” Severus sighed.

“And what are the charges?”

“Spellcrafting Without a License, Uncategorized Spellcrafting, Spellcrafting for Personal Use-“

“In short, you’re throwing the book at me.”

“No, _they’re_ throwing the book at you. _I_ sent Hermione an express memo to tell her that you were brought in again.”

“Obstruction of justice, Auror Weasley?”

“Nope, just informing my fiancée of why I’ll be home late tonight. My fiancée who happens to be your lawyer.” Severus bristled like a pissed off nundu.

“I’ve told Miss Granger a thousand times that I will not be her charity case,” he snapped.

“And Hermione will let you pay her, _after_ your account is unfrozen and your Hogwarts pension is released from Ministry custody.”

“We both know that’s not going to happen,” Severus said, “with things being as they are.” Weasley glanced down at his arms again, which were flexing against the chains.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. He flicked his wand from his sleeve, and Severus flinched. “I’m not going to – oh, _bloody hell_.” He tapped the chair, and the chains immediately slithered reluctantly from Severus’s wrists. “I’ll have to put those back before I leave, unfortunately, but for now at least…”

“Thank you,” Severus said awkwardly, folding his arms against the slight chill. Weasley gave him an annoyingly concerned look, but before the Auror could comment one of the Ministry’s flying memos squeezed under the door of the interrogation room and plopped into Weasley’s hand, unfolding itself neatly. Weasley read the note and nodded, apparently satisfied by it.

“It’s from Hermione,” he said to Severus. He took a piece of parchment and a self-inking Dictoquill from one of his robe’s inner pockets. “Alright, these questions will all be on the record.” He set the quill on its point at the top of the parchment. “Interrogation of Severus Tobias Snape, thirteenth October 2001 at approximately 09:15, performed by Auror Ronald Weasley. Subject,” Weasley looked at Severus apologetically, “is being charged with several counts of Spellcrafting Without a License, Uncatagorized Spellcrafting, Spellcrafting for Personal Use, and Dark Spellcrafting. These charges also violate his parole under Section 34B of the Azkaban Depopulation Act. Severus Snape, do you understand that you are expected to answer all questions willingly, truthfully, and to the full extent of your knowledge?”

“Yes,” Severus said.

“Do you understand that said answers may be used against you in any court, whether Ministry-appointed or under the jurisdiction of the Wizengamot?”

“Yes.”

“And do you understand that failure to answer willingly, truthfully, and to the full extent of your knowledge may result in additional charges, including Obstruction of Justice, that will additionally violate your parole under Section 34B?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, let’s begin.” Weasley lifted the Dictoquill for a moment. “Feel free to just flip me off if you don’t want to answer a question, and I’ll stop the Dictoquill.” Severus nodded, not quite knowing what to say. It was an unprecedented kindness, the type of rule breaking that was par for the course in Lucius’s interrogations and completely foreign in his. If Severus’s body betrayed his churning emotions, Weasley ignored it, replacing the Dictoquill with practiced precision and smoothing out Granger’s parchment.

“First thing’s first. Do you admit to being the crafter of _Muffliato,_ an unregistered spell, charm, hex, jinx, or curse?”

“Yes,” Severus bit out, hoping that Weasley knew what he was doing.

“Have you created other spells, charms, hexes, jinxes, or curses that remain unregistered at this time?”

“Yes.”

“When were these unregistered spells crafted?” Weasley gave him a very sharp, significant look.

“The majority were crafted in my fourth, fifth, and sixth year at Hogwarts, between the years of 1974 and 1977.”

“And the rest?”

“Have been expunged, since they were crafted for use by the Order of the Phoenix.” Normally this would be where the pain would begin, but Weasley seemed more interested in the piece of parchment.

“I see. Were any unregistered spells you crafted Dark or intended for the use of You-Know-Who’s Death Eaters during your time in his service?”

“None were conclusively Dark, and the only spells I crafted for the Dark Lord were revealed to him on the instructions of Headmaster Dumbledore.”

“Right.” Weasley took the Dictoquill from the parchment and tucked it and the parchment back in his robes. “Off the record, what do you mean by conclusively Dark?” Severus studied the Auror’s expression for a moment, but Weasley showed nothing but mild curiosity, and the youngest Weasley boy had never been good at dissembling.

“None of my spells are powered through harm or cause irreversible harm, which is the academic definition of Dark Magic. The Ministry’s laws, on the other hand, tend to be… looser, vaguer, not to mention more sporadically enforced. And since the Ministry decided to seize my copy of Cyprian’s _De Mortalitate_ , which is, among other things, a _Muggle_ book… well, let’s just say that I don’t have much hope that they’ll rule in my favor.” Weasley sighed.

“Right,” he muttered to himself. “The world’s fucked up. What else is new?” He tapped the chains, which wound around Severus’s arms once again. Then his voice went up to normal volume. “Okay, I’m finished in here.” The door behind Weasley opened and two more Aurors stepped inside – two Aurors that Severus vaguely recognized as those assigned to guard Azkaban and control the Dementors. Part of him wanted to fight, was even willing to beg not to be sent back there, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. All it would do was humiliate him further.

“Has a trial been scheduled yet?” he asked Weasley as the other two unchained him from the chair, only to cuff his hands behind his back. These handcuffs were too tight, biting into his wrists and catching the uneven texture of the scars there.

“Not yet,” Weasley said. “Your lawyer will be in contact, and I expect that she’ll have the date set up within a week.” Severus nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. He was already steeling himself for another stint in Azkaban, and he had enough experience to know that it would do little good.

* * *

Severus was craning his neck, counting the cracks in the ceiling. He had been taken from his cell ( _cold scabbed hands on his arms, leeching whatever warmth remained_ ) and thrown in here. It wasn’t an interrogation room this time ( _bright red pain almost a relief from the icy nothingness_ ) but the visiting room. It would be Weasley or Granger, he expected. They were the only two who still felt obligated to care whether he lived or died or survived.

He couldn’t tell if he had been here for hours or mere minutes. Occlumency helped a little ( _give me five feet on methods of resisting Dementors_ ), but he could only protect his memories from being leeched away. He couldn’t do anything against the worst bits of his life being dragged the surface or against the icy cold.

He shivered. ( _Severus, please_ ) The door opened and light spilled in and he stopped craning his neck.

“Ms. Granger,” he said.

“Christ,” she said. “Have they even been feeding you?” He looked back up at the ceiling.

“I don’t have much of an appetite,” he said.

“Well, make yourself have one,” she said. “You look like you’ve lost a stone, and you didn’t have a stone to lose in the first place. I’d be very disappointed if my client died in Azkaban when imprisoned on false charges.”

“I’m not your client.” ( _You disgust me_ )

“Don’t be obtuse. Of course you’re my client.” Granger sat across from him. There were thirty-seven cracks in the ceiling. “Now, Professor-“

“I’m not your professor.”

“You are until I say so. Now, Professor, the charges brought against you are patently absurd. For one thing, your spells were crafted before the passage of the Spellcrafting Restriction Act in 1980, and therefore they ought to be grandfathered in. For another, even if you _had_ broken the law, that wouldn’t have violated your parole, since your parole only applies to crimes committed after June 23 rd of 2000. You shouldn’t have even been brought in for questioning, much less thrown into Azkaban, and quite frankly there had been a terrible breakdown in procedure during this whole affair. You ought to be freed easily.” Severus snorted.

“Lier.”

“According to the law-“

“When the hell has the Ministry ever let the law stop them from doing as they please?”

“Alright, perhaps it won’t be _easy_ , but it should be more than doable.”

“Is there any chance of striking a deal?” Granger’s lips tightened. “Tell me.”

“You won’t like it,” she said, “though I’m certain that I’ll be able to ensure it won’t stick if you – if you choose it. At least assure me that you’ll consider taking it.”

“Just tell me.”

“They want you to be employed with the Ministry in their Spellcrafting division.” Rage rose like bile in Severus’s throat.

“Employed?” he spat.

“You’ll still have the restrictions on earning. I could bargain for them to raise-“

“I don’t fucking want them to raise the limit!” ( _you don’t deserve it_ ) “I just want them to _leave me alone_!”

“I know,” Granger said. “I know, Professor, but right now I just want you out of Azkaban. If you’re this bad after just a week-“

“When’s the trial?”

“Not until December-“

“I can survive until then.” He wished he could cross his arms, but the cuffs were still there, flaying his wrists. Just as the Dementors liked his despair, the human guards liked to see him brought low, forced to eat from the floor like a dog. “I can survive anything if it means not helping the Ministry.”

“You may think so, but I’m not so sure,” Granger snapped. “At this rate, you’ll be dead before your trial.”

“I’ll try to eat more.”

“Don’t bargain with me, Professor. You’re taking this deal, and that’s final. You’ll be out of Azkaban, and it will be easier to make them release you from their employ after the trial.”

“Granger, I will never help the Ministry craft their bloody spells and funnel money back into their pockets in the process. If they want me, they can pay me, and you know how much a half-decent Spellcrafter can make.”

“You’re more than half-decent, sir,” Granger said quietly. “That’s why I’m worried. The talent’s rare enough for them to hurt you to control it.”

“I’d rather spend the rest of my life in Azkaban than give up a single ounce of my freedom.”

“If we don’t do something soon, there won’t be much of a life for you to live.”

“I don’t care,” he said. He may not have much ( _And what will you give me in return, Severus?_ ), but he had enough pride and pettiness left to deny them what was left. “If I die, I die, and they’ll still need to find a different Spellcrafter.” Granger sighed, but she didn’t argue.

“I’ll visit whenever I can,” she said instead. “And do try to eat more.”

* * *

He could hear the muttering as he was dragged into the courtroom, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying. Even with Granger and Weasley visiting whenever they could, he was fairly certain that he had begun to go insane over the… months? Two months since he had been thrown back in Azkaban. He was so relieved to be allowed to sit that he didn’t even care when the chains drew painfully tight around his arms.

“… Snape!” His head jerked up, and he tried to concentrate. The judge… he didn’t recognize her. She seemed faintly disturbed by something.

“Yes?” he said. The judge turned to Granger, who was suddenly beside him.

“Ms. Granger, is your client… fit?” Granger answered, but Severus had already zoned out again. That was when he noticed that there weren’t any Dementors. He could feel his heart pounding, strong and alive inside his chest, and there weren’t any Dementors anymore.

The rest of the trial went by in a muddle. He mostly just had to sit there, occasionally nudged by Granger into answering various questions. He didn’t know all the answers, but he didn’t suppose it mattered much. Granger would win, or she wouldn’t. There wasn’t that much of a difference either way.

“… shall be returned to Azkaban in the meantime to await a verdict.”

“Your Honor, may I request that my client be released into Auror custody for the time being on medical grounds?”

“Do you have any particular Auror in mind?” The judge was smiling slightly. Severus blinked and looked around, confused. The people all around him didn’t seem to be protesting.

“Auror Ronald Weasley.”

“Very well.” It seemed almost ludicrously easy. In the space of a few minutes, the chains had dropped from his arms and he was being led up and out into the open air. He looked around at the gently falling snow, dazzled, unsure of where to go or what to do, but before he could make a decision dozens of witches and wizards with cameras and Dictoquills were upon them, shouting out questions. He drew back, but there was a hand on his back, pushing him forward.

“Come on,” Weasley muttered. “I got permission to use a Ministry car. Can’t have you splinching. Let Hermione deal with the press.” Severus twisted his head around to see that Granger was right behind them, answering questions almost as fast as the press could come up with them and then joining them in the car. Severus hung onto the seatbelt like it was the only sane thing in the world.

“What’s going on?” he said.

“They requested more time to come up with a verdict,” Granger said, sounding immensely satisfied. “The prosecution did all they could to stack the jury against you, but they know they haven’t got a leg to stand on. Besides, the press has been turning on them for the way they’ve been handling your case.”

“Especially after Skeeter scored an exclusive interview with the Chosen One speaking in your defense,” Weasley cut in.

“And since you’re coming home with us on medical grounds, they’ll be hard pressed to justify putting you back in Azkaban to the public. They’re more likely to loosen some of your restrictions than make them worse. You see, I _may_ have told the Daily Prophet that the Ministry was trying to blackmail you into working for them. Besides, those pictures that they managed to take, along with how, well, out of it you seemed during your trial, will more or less guarantee that they’ll stay on your side.”

“Why would they be on my side?” Severus muttered, feeling hopelessly lost. Weasley and Granger exchanged a look of sympathy.

“Look, let’s just get you home,” Weasley said gently. “It’ll all be better once you’re out of that hellhole and had a decent night’s sleep.”

“Home?” Severus said. He had only just realized that he couldn’t have been paying rent on his flat the last two months.

“Our house, me and Ron’s,” Granger clarified. Severus probably should have protested to being so dependent on their kindness, but he just didn’t have the energy.

“Alright,” he said. “Home.”


End file.
